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I nodded. “My wife read it to our baby girl. I’m surprised it made it this long. It’s been decades.”
Ernest pursed his lips. “That is strange. May I see it?”
I glanced at him. He looked worn down for his age, and his white hair had fallen from its tie at his neck. “Sure.”
I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to him. Then Josie walked over a loaf of bread for us and broke it into two pieces. I took it from her. “Thank you.”
I wanted to tell her to stay, but I couldn’t get my mind to work right. She sat back with Fern, and they whispered amongst themselves.
Ernest read the story to himself, becoming more and more still the further he got in the child’s storybook.
“Have you never read a storybook?” I asked over a bite of bread.
Ernest didn’t answer, he continued to read and stopped on the last page. “It’s been torn out,” he mumbled.
I shrugged. “I’m surprised it wasn’t burned when she destroyed the village.”
Ernest sat the book down and picked up his bread.
“Josie, did you bring any water?”
She jumped up and brought over a small cup of water. Her gaze settled on the book at Ernest’s feet. “Oh, I had this book growing up.” She bent down and skimmed through it with a smile on her face. “My mother read it to me growing up. The prince wakes the princess with a kiss—” She stopped and looked at me. Something crossed her face that I couldn’t pinpoint.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You woke her with a kiss.” Fern ran over, nearly tripping.
“I’m no prince,” I mumbled over another bite.
“Do you remember what happens in the end?” Ernest asked, sitting up.
She nodded. “The prince kills the witch.”
“How?” Ernest whispered.
“In her true form. A ... dragon.”
The silence that hung around me deafened my own heartbeat. What were the chances of that? Josie looked at me with big eyes. “You kill the witch in her true form.”
She turned the book around and showed me the prince. He was small on the page, standing on top of a hill with a sword and nothing else.
The woods he stared out were dark. Like the woods that surrounded her castle.
His dirty blond hair looked like it blew in the wind, but he stood proud. Like he was confident that he would succeed.
“Oh, my gosh,” Josie whispered.
I shifted and chuckled lightly. “That’s not me.”
Ernest stared at the side of my face until I felt he would burn a hole in it. “Can I speak to you alone?”
I didn’t feel like talking. I felt like sitting in my self-loathing and eating my bread in peace.
Standing up, I helped him to his feet as he took us several yards away. When he turned to me, he looked pissed. “Kellan, I took you all in because I believe in you. I don’t know what’s happened, but you have to get out of this pessimistic box. That bird picked up a book that should have been destroyed hundreds of years ago. What the hell is the matter with you?”
My anger boiled over like a pot, and I cursed under my breath. “I’m afraid, Ernest. I can’t defeat her—”
“You can,” he hissed, shoving his finger into my chest. “And you will. That was a sign.”
